An April Fool
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: We all have that one friend who takes the season of practical jokes just a little too far... One-shot


Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, nor am I making any money off of this story(Bummer!). This story is pure fiction and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental(Obviously).

* * *

The men of Barracks Two sat around the common room in uneasy silence. The breakfast the guards brought into them remained mostly untouched as last night's incident still had them all on edge. Perhaps they _had_ gone too far, but how were they to know that Newkirk would react as he did? Who could have guessed that Klink would order a surprise roll call? And, honestly, who could have foreseen the consequences he was prepared to dole out?

 _H~H_

April Fool's Day had come and gone a weeks past and Newkirk was _still_ celebrating it. It was as if he'd made it his mission to prank every single resident at Stalag Thirteen. He'd even gone so far as to prank the guards… well, the friendly ones, anyway.  
His barrack-mates were getting more than a little sick of the 'jokes', which lead LeBeau to organize them into an impromptu barracks meeting. Topic: getting even…

"What we need," LeBeau said, after the men had been settled into some semblance of order, "is something to teach that over-grown child a lesson."

There were several murmurs of agreement as each man knitted his brows together. Carter, as always, was the first to get an idea. "We could take some of the ink from the presses and put it in his tea, then when he drinks it, his teeth will be black!" he said excitedly.

Several of the men agreed until Kinch shook his head. "Nope," he said, "the Colonel just got word from London that the krauts are changing their money again. We'll need all our ink to make the new bills once the plates are stolen."

"Oui, of course," LeBeau said. "Besides, not only would he taste it, but there aren't many mirrors around here; he wouldn't get the point."

Silence reigned as the men tried to think of another good idea. Gradually an hour passed with only a couple of ideas, most of which Kinch shot down as too mean spirited or not very practical.

If they were going to do this, he'd argued, they couldn't do anything that would harm the synchronicity of the crew.

"Hey, I remember one time when my brother put all sorts of spiders and toads and stuff in my sister's bed." Olsen suggested with a shrug, "she screamed so loud that my mom said she could've raised the dead. We'd just need to find out what he's kinda scared of…"

Baker began to chuckle and Garlotti elbowed him, gently. "Wanna share with the rest of the class?" he asked.

"Every summer, when I was a little kid, I would beg my folks to let me go to camp." Baker smiled as a flood of happy memories washed over him, "all the kids from school would go and it was real neat because they didn't care what color you were or anything like that. The only thing they did care about was the fee. Well, one summer, my folks scraped the money together and sent me."

"Not that I'm against the story," Olsen said, only a touch miffed that his idea hadn't been more warmly received. "But is there a point?"

Baker chuckled again, "we had a kid in our cabin, a real schmuck. He'd swipe anything he could get his hands on and he threw his weight around just 'cause he could. Well, this other kid – he was from New York – he got tired of it and he fixed him real good." Baker went on to explain, in great detail, the prank and the outcome. The men had a good laugh as LeBeau looked to Kinch for approval.

"You said that there was no resentment?" Kinch asked.

Baker nodded, "as a matter of fact, I even became friends with the schmuck… he was a groomsman at my wedding."

"See," LeBeau said eagerly. "It will work and no one will be upset." Still with some reluctance, Kinch nodded and LeBeau rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Okay, we'll put Baker's plan into action tonight," he said. "No one say anything, not even to the Colonel; he might make us give it up."

 _H~H_

Corporal Langenscheidt's mouth dropped open as he overheard the little Frenchman's last words. They were plotting… the whole of Barracks Two, they were going to… to escape?!

He hurried away from the window and hesitated as he approached the Kommandantur, knowing he should go in and report it. It had only been by chance that he'd stopped at that very spot and at that very moment. He didn't like getting anyone into trouble – not because the punishments were severe, but rather that it tended to make him _very_ unpopular. Langenscheidt wrestled with the decision for a few moments before his sense of duty won out. He reached for the knob and stepped through. Helga smiled sweetly and, after he awkwardly mumbled his request, escorted him to the Kommandant's office.

Kommandant Klink had the camp ledgers on his desk. It was obvious from his frustration that the books weren't balancing. "Yes, Langenscheidt," he said distractedly, balling another piece of scratch paper. "I don't have time..."

Langenscheidt stepped closer to the desk and saluted. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report a plot," he talked so quickly that his words ran together.

"That's very good, Langenscheidt," Klink said, studying the books in front of him and running his pen over the columns. "Ah-ha! There's were those twenty marks went," he muttered to himself. "I knew they existed."

"Kommandant?"

Klink looked up and seemed almost surprised to see him. "Yes, Langenscheidt?"

"I beg to report a plot," Langenscheidt repeated, still maintaining his salute.

Klink shot to his feet and quickly rounded the desk, where the questions flew fast and furious. The poor guard barely had enough time to explain before Klink threw another one.

What plot?  
An escape plot, he thought.

Who?

Well, the men in Barracks Two.

Hogan?!

No, not Hogan. The little cockroach specifically said not to tell him.

How?

Not sure… he didn't hear that part, but he was sure it would happen tonight.

Tonight?

Yes, that's what the cockroach said.

Well, well, well… good work, Langenscheidt. Have Helga type up a one night pass for next Friday and then send Schultz to him. Langenscheidt saluted eagerly and backed out leaving Klink to pace the length of his office. He polished his monocle as he walked allowing himself the indulgence of a gleeful chuckle. Those foolish prisoners; when would the learn that they couldn't get anything passed the Iron Eagle? Well, won't they be in for a surprise…

 _H~H_

Later that evening, the group was gathered about the common room for a game of cards. Newkirk was still at it; this time his victim was Olsen, who'd had all of the tobacco, except the very end, removed from his cigarettes and the wrappers re-rolled with plain paper inside.  
Newkirk's eyes twinkled with mischief as the frustrated American lit cigarette after cigarette. Finally, he'd been unable to hold in his laughter and had copped to the joke.

Hogan rolled his eyes, but refrained from stepping in as LeBeau took the Brit to task for his poor taste and for ruining an – up 'til now – pleasant game. The bickering was interrupted by Schultz banging on the door to signal lights out. Hogan dumped the last of his tepid coffee into the refuse bucket, said his 'good-nights' before retiring to his quarters.

LeBeau gave Newkirk a final 'pah' and went to the bunks he shared with Kinch. The rest of the men began readying themselves for bed. A thrill of anticipation rolled through them as Newkirk changed into his night shirt and crawled into his bunk. "G'night," he mumbled, completely oblivious to the smiles and whispers spreading about the barracks.

"Good night, Peter," Carter struggled to keep the smile from his face.

The lights went out and they waited, some patiently and some not so patiently, until they heard quiet snoring. Carter got out of bed and leaned closer to Newkirk's snoring form. "Peter?" he whispered, at first softly and then a little louder. When Newkirk failed to respond, he gave the all clear signal.

LeBeau pulled a lighter out from under his pillow and lit it. He quietly gathered the supplies from beneath his mattress, ignoring Kinch's disapproving sigh as he crept across the common room. Olsen and Baker joined them at Newkirk's bunk.

After double-checking to ensure their victim was still asleep, they gently shifted the blanket into place. LeBeau handed out the all-ready threaded needles and each man took a corner with Carter at the very bottom. As quickly and quietly as they could, they sewed Newkirk into his bed and hurriedly returned to their own.

LeBeau replaced the supplies under his mattress and let out a little chuckle. _We'll have plenty of time to undo it before roll call tomorrow,_ he thought with a yawn. _Serves him right, too._ _Maybe next time he'll think twice before switching_ _out_ _my s_ _ugar_ _with_ _salt_ _…_

 _H~H_

"Raus!" Schultz bellowed, flinging open the door and switching on the lights. "Everybody up and out of bed. Line up for the head count!"

The five other guards accompanying him began to bang on the bunks. They were not very gentle, either, as they had spent the last four and a half hours waiting outside the wire for the escape. Klink stood at the door and watched, his face tired and cross.

Most of the men let out groans and muffled complaints… except for Newkirk. In his half-asleep state, he'd attempted to roll off his bunk. With a loud crash and a shout of alarm, he'd landed – mattress and all – at Carter's feet. The shock took only seconds to wear off and he proceeded to thrash about like some sort of intoxicated inch worm.

"You ruddy, tossers!" Newkirk screeched, his anger accentuating his accent. "Just wait'll I get me hands on you!"

Although Hogan had been awakened by Schultz initial shout, it was this racket that pulled him from his quarters. His hair mussy, shirt half buttoned, and face a mixture of alarm and concern. As he neared the fray, he called out, "what's going on here?"

Carter and Kinch were both trying to calm the frenzied man enough to pull him out of the top of the mattress-blanket cocoon.

Meanwhile, Schultz stood there, unsure as to what was going on or just what he should do about it.

Hogan attempted to calm the chaos, but was having a hard time being heard with Klink at his elbow yelling that anyone found in cahoots on the escape plan would face the wrath of his iron fist.

Finally, Hogan put his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud, sharp whistle. The commotion stopped and all eyes were on him. "Just what in the world is going on?" he said slowly, making a great effort to stay calm.

"What's going on," Klink said angrily, "is that we know all about the attempted escape."

With Newkirk distracted, his friends quickly pulled the him out of his trap and the three stood. Newkirk was giving LeBeau a glare as he rubbed the shoulder on which he'd landed. Carter was looking at his shoes and LeBeau was bright red and shamefaced. Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "what attempt? They're all here."

Klink glanced around, obviously counting. "Well," he said awkwardly. "We burst in before they had a chance to try, but I know who's behind this. Schultz, take Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau into custody and escort them to my office. Langenscheidt, you and the rest will search the entire barracks then keep it under strict guard."

LeBeau didn't resist as one of the guards pushed him forward, but Newkirk, on the other hand, complained loudly as Schultz took hold of his arm. "Shut up, Newkirk," Hogan barked, following Schultz to the door. "As Senior Prisoner of War Officer," he began.

"Of course, you may come, Hogan." Klink gave a tired, but smug smirk, "I can't wait to hear the explanation you come up with… but it will have to be a good one, for I fully intend to transfer those two trouble makers to the farthest stalag I can find!"

Klink stalked out of the barracks as Langenscheidt gave orders to begin the search. Hogan followed, but not before throwing the rest of the men an 'I'll be dealing with you later look'. The men sat down the table as the guards tossed their bunks and footlockers.

 _H~H_

Shortly after breakfast, Schultz returned with two hushed, penitent prisoners. He stayed for only a moment, dropping LeBeau and Newkirk off and gathering up Langenscheidt to return to the Kommandantur. Newkirk sat down at the table and reached for the cards, which were left there from last night. The only thing left in place from the search. Wordlessly, he dealt a game of solitaire, while LeBeau sat on the nearest bunk and fielded the endless questions.

As the hours passed, the quiet assurances that everything would be okay; that Hogan would talk his way out of it, had switched to condemnations of their actions and petty bickering over where—and to whom—the fault belongs. The men, Newkirk included, seemed to agree that it belonged to him and his practical jokes.

Kinch stood and paced. He never could understand why, but pacing always seemed appropriate at times like this… a release of nervous energy, he supposed. He looked at his watch, "it's almost lunch time. he's been in there for hours."

"What do you think he's gonna do?" Carter asked, ignoring his growling stomach. "Klink, I mean. Do you think he meant it about sending them away?"

LeBeau shook his head, "The Colonel had him convinced that we weren't planning to escape."

Newkirk snorted between drags, "they're probably still arguing about whether I should spend the next year and a half in the cooler."

"He was that mad," Carter asked, "over a practical joke _we_ pulled on _you_?"

He smiled ruefully, "apparently, the goons were even less amused be my jokes than you lot were." He paused before letting out a full-bellied laugh. "That was a ruddy good one you pulled, though… I'll have to remember it."

"You mean you aren't mad?" Carter asked in surprise. "I figured you'd want to wring our necks when you got back."

"Naw," Baker grinned as he sat down next to Newkirk, "I told you he'd be a good sport."

Newkirk gathered up his solitaire and quickly dealt Baker a hand of gin. "That's the funny thing about practical jokes," he said. "They never feel good in the very moment your being tricked, but later – when all the dust settles – you can usually laugh at 'em and yourself. That's why April Fools is my favorite holiday, it makes you step back and look at who you are as a person and a friend… and reminds you to not take yourself too serious."

The whole barracks sat in silence as the thought about his statement. The only sound heard was the cards softly thwaping against the table. Finally, LeBeau began to laugh.

"I must have looked like a fool, with my mouth all puckered," he said, mimicking the face one makes when the food is too salty. "And then I was hopping mad, jumping around like a… like a mountain goat!" The men joined in on his laughter.

"And me," Olsen said, as some of the laughter started to subside. "With those cigarette duds."

Each man had their turn recounting the prank he received and mocking what he must have looked like or remarking about how it _was_ a pretty good joke after all. They were laughing so hard that no one noticed the door open, nor did they notice their haggard commander enter.

"Well, I'm glad to see you haven't murdered each other in my absence," Hogan said, shutting the door behind him. He rubbed his eyes and emitted a huge yawn.

Newkirk gathered up the cards and put them in his pocket. "How long do I get in the cooler?" he said, heaving a sigh.

LeBeau jumped to his feet before Newkirk had even finished. "Colonel," he said passionately. "if he goes to the cooler than they must also put me in the cooler, for it was my prank that started this mess."

"And me, too!" Carter hollered from his bunk.

"We were all involved," Kinch said firmly, after Olsen and several other men voiced their grievance against one man shouldering all the blame. "So, if Klink wants to punish those responsible than that means all of us."

Hogan looked over his team with an amused smile. "Well," he said slowly, "while this overwhelming display of camaraderie is touching, it's hardly necessary. Klink's not sending anyone to the cooler. He settled for a couple of work detail to clean up the roads into Hammelburg."

"I think I'd rather go to the cooler," Newkirk grouched.

"That can still be arranged," Hogan said, yawning as he headed for his office. "Now, if you gentlemen don't mind, I'm going back to bed. Oh, and Newkirk," He stopped at the door and turned. "The next time April 1st rolls around…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Pretend it's May."

 _The End_


End file.
